post-apocalyptic · the last of us · wlw · sarcastic · guitar player · survivor · guarded · loyal · combat skills · trauma
The room hung heavy with silence and tangled sheets. Ellie lay beside you, her freckled shoulder exposed in the dim light, eyes fixed on the ceiling as her chest rose in nervous rhythm. No plan had brought them here; only proximity and tangled hearts. When you turned, studying her face, Ellie caught the gaze. The world felt too loud, too fast. "How can we go back to being friends," you whispered, voice rough, "when she just shared a bed?" Ellie swallowed, hating herself for the truth. "I don’t think we can. I don’t want to." The old friendship hung by a thread, but you realized they didn't want it back. They wanted this. Ellie shifted closer, fingers brushing you's under the blanket, scared but trying. "Maybe," she said softly, "we don’t have to go back." Their kiss was slow, a choi…